Occupational Stress
by Micer
Summary: Just a story concerning the capture of the Jackal, read and enjoy.
1. In youth and beauty wisdom is rare

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Hmm… the socks seven to … the chime on the door sounded, as a soft wind from outside crept into the small gas station. The old man glanced up from his newspaper, finding the customer standing before him, staring off at the photographs on the wall behind his chair. "Can I help ya miss?" She was a nice looking little thing, this scruffy creature from the road, who's only real color came from the tank top and stitched jacket, probably not a day near her early thirties, and yet not as pretty as his wife had been back in her youth. But still - this one held an air about her that hardly left her looking homely, _if'in I met her in a graveyard I'd of thought she was a ghost or something_, the look on her was one of awareness. Nothing like those empty headed little things that got lost on their way up to New York for their photo shoots, but whatever it was she seemed like she knew what she was doing. _Wish my son had married a girl like this…_

"I'm looking for Red Ridge." Her gaze never left the wall as she spoke, fully engrossed with whatever photograph had caught her attention. Must have been pretty important, if it looked like she was going to burn a hole into the wall if she concentrated anymore. 

The clerk placed his newspaper down, studying the dusty girl that stood patiently before him. "The town? Just seven miles down the road."

She shook her head slowly, her blonde, nearly white hair swaying with the movement. "No. The care center."

"Care center? The hospital?" 

The girl offered up an amused smile, finally looking at the clerk with blue eyes. "Not the hospital in town, the old hospital."

"Oh, you mean the Borehamwood place." 

She eagerly nodded, "That's the place, do you know where it is?"

The old man shook his head, any quicker a movement would have knocked the reading glasses off their perch upon his thin nose. "Nah, can't say that I do, miss, that road was overgrown when I was a young'en. Only the kids go up there now to cause trouble. But why would a girl like you want to know where a burnt up loony bin is? If'in ya don't mind my askin'"

She seemed to pause, giving an answer some thought. "For the same reason your wife loved to go to the shore every summer, Henry. _A chance for some lovely photographs, and being with the family._" His eyes widened as he turned to search the wall for any photo that may of helped her glean that information - how did she manage to know his name - let alone that, how was she able to sound so much like his wife? Right down to the slight tilt of her head and warm smile upon her face of her mannerisms. 

The man sputtered, finding nothing that helped her, just old graying photographs of a lonely stretch of beach and ocean. "How? Di-" 

Turning back, he found the store empty, not even the chime on the door had sounded when she had left. The only thing proving she had even been there in the first place, and had not been some daylight hallucination was the crumpled five-dollar bill, still warm to Henry's cautious touch resting upon the countertop. 

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Truthfully part of her felt a little guilty for doing that to the old man, but it couldn't have been helped, what with his wife talking so much behind him and old Henry just starting to ask questions. None of which she was willing to answer just yet, considering the lack of answers on her part. At least his wife seemed like a nice enough lady, but she could really bend your ear when she knew someone was listening. Ghosts get sick of talking to themselves after a while she supposed as she got back onto her dented old motorbike. Finally all fueled up for the remainder of the trip; she paused to pull the blue helmet, the familiar color of her name; that had hung off the side of her seat back onto her head. But they certainly did know how to look out for their loved ones. With luck perhaps it would give the old man reason to leave for a while to be with happier memories, because news of his son would reach him soon enough. 

It was a good thing that Blue had finally reached her destination before evening fell, with luck there would be a small motel with a shower and bed already rented out and awaiting her arrival. She was grateful, any longer on the road with those lonely thoughts would have done her in for good in the dark. Edging back onto the road she was off once more, the erratic patches of empty fields and heavy woods flashing past her eyes as she gunned the bike's engine. 

**__**

Welcome to Red Ridge. "A nice place to live." 

__

Oh that was priceless, she thought as the sign quickly came into view and the first traces of civilization began to show. Why did places like this always have a dire need to call themselves cute two worded names? Places like 'Red Ridge', 'Green Cay', or even 'Willow Grove'? It struck her as the sort of place that would close the schools on the first day of deer season, with its ancient fifties wholesomeness that hung so thickly like an inner city smog. A quaint little town that used to cater to the mental well being of the large cities around it. Really more like hide those from the society that bred them, considering the practices of mistreatment and overcrowded conditions of Borehamwood. Hell, a majority of asylums during that day in age were the same way back than, its what the bit of land and rotting buildings was now that helped it stand out from the rest. Even though the asylum itself was well out of public eye - buried out under a thick blanket of trees, long forgotten to those outside of this town, there still were those who made it a point to know everything about it. Her employer for one, though he seemed rather unwilling to share any information she might have gladly welcomed, whoever it was that wanted her out here certainly had a strange sense of humor - that or a hell of a lot of money to waste. 

Tromping around in a burnt up asylum looking to locate and confirm the presence of a highly volatile spirit of a mad man that may or may not be there still, oh yeah, she couldn't wait to see the punch line.


	2. Strong and bitter words indicate a weak ...

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Author's note: "Yargh, darn you and your kind words of support! It only starts a fire under my rear to get stuff done, no toasty Micer buns! Nooo! Micer buns must be kept at room temperature! Here! Take your chapter! ::sniffle:: I go hide now, the good reviews, such positive things… thank you… but my head's gonna turn into a turnip." -This author's note brought to you by lack of sleep and too much pepsi twist. Enjoy.

It took her fewer than fifteen minutes to find the motel once she made her way into town with the coming of evening, a pleasant little mom and pop business, probably still running by the skin of its teeth. She viewed the small pine green and white main building from the parking lot, most likely this entire place looked down right picturesque when winter rolled around. Right now it didn't look so picture worthy she noted from the corner of her eye, seeing the group of five or so kids hanging about at the corner watching her with what looked to be more than simple curiosity. The local shit kicker and yuppie spawn from the looks of it. Getting off her bike and removing her helmet, she started up the cement walkway that flanked the parking lot, rooting around in her knapsack for the room key she had been sent. She'd worry about finding a safer place to store her motorbike later; it would survive any abuse the local kids wanted to put it through anyway. Thankfully her little rust bucket was durable. And considering there was nothing in the saddlebags that would be worth the effort or profit of taking, she would at least have the time for other things first. With a satisfied grin she finally pulled out the key attached to a forest green strip of plastic, exactly the thing she was looking for, as always hiding at the very bottom of her bag. 

Her employer had been a stickler for detail, his leach - er - legal counsel sending everything she required to get here by mail, the directions, a small bit of money for gas, the key to the motel, no stone unturned. Most likely the files for her job would be awaiting her upon the table inside, considering the stanch refusal to discuss the job until she was there and ready to perform like it or not. Any more of a refusal would have meant unneeded attention towards her business.

__

10, 12 - there it is, 15, quickly she turned on her heel and returned to gather her things from her bike's bags, she'd worry about changing the song on her disc player later, its uplifting tones hardly making her feel confident in her current surroundings. 

With a careful glance over her shoulder she looked over the teens, guessing none of their eyes had left her from the door to the bike. They would most likely be there on the corner even after the already fading light had left the skies. Not always a good thing to have any sort of attention so early on, and it looked like seeking out dinner would have to wait for now. _Blessed be the packed sandwiches. _

Finally gathering all she needed Blue walked back to the fifteenth door, unlocking it and entered her sparse little room, closing the door behind her and locking it out of habit. Turning back from the lock she paused, taking in the very inviting bed and the small nook near the back of the room. Most likely containing the bathroom and with enough luck thrown to the winds, a few clean towels and a deep enough tub to drown out her troubles from the road. _Too many accident victims for her liking during the trip, standing forlorn upon the roadsides. _It was sights like those that made driving a car; let alone a motorbike so complicated, it would take a while to shake the visions they had left dogging her memories of the trip.But first things would be first, she noted, seeing the tidy folder upon the desk that stood before the hanging mirror besides the small television.

Scooping up the folder from where it laid, Blue turned to approach the bed, and how inviting that square bit of cloth and springs looked.

Sinking down upon the bed she tilted her head back and offered up a thankful sigh to the textured ceiling, before looking back down at the folder in her hands. Nothing truly fancy, merely the bare bones of data she found, reading over as much as she could. Finding many of it things she already knew out of common sense and previously documented paranormal phenomena, but it was the building plans that worried her - seeing no date proving these were the plans after the recent renovations the one asylum preservation site had mentioned. And as for information as to her ghost hunt - a former resident of the original asylum with no cause of death listed, just a number and a last name. Patient 327 - Kuhn, she'd have to see about dredging up some of the local folk yore if she wanted anymore answers than what the papers gave her. _For all I know it could have been a guard beating, natural causes, hell maybe even smoke inhalation from the first fire - that's why I hate going in blind on jobs like this. _A yawn broke through her thoughts as she leaned back completely onto the bed, perhaps just if she closed her eyes for a moment it wouldn't matter much towards her schedule - but no, instead she sat up almost instantly as the bedside telephone issued out a ring. 

Pulling off her earphones and picking up the receiver, she spoke before whoever it was on the other side could begin. "Hello?"

"This would be Miss Blue?" She glanced down at her feet as the male voice answered in its controlled and very refined tones, watching as her toes dug into the carpet before offering an appropriate reply to such a question. _So this is Mr. Cyrus Kriticos, _at least he was polite enough not to call her by her birth name, his lawyer had learned that the hard way after being hung up on multiple times every single time her name was spoken. Blue prayed she was correct, only going on recognizing the sound of his voice from the recording she had been sent, a short message describing the job in a thick blanket of riddles and meaningless banter. 

"If it wasn't do you think we'd be speaking on the phone, sir?" 

Apparently the man on the other side of the line didn't share the same appreciation for humor. "Well, I'm very sure you know who I am already." He gave no pause as to if she indeed knew whom the caller was, immediately continuing on, "Might I inquire if you intend on going to the asylum tonight?" As always - straight to business, Blue held onto an annoyed sigh, perhaps the art of conversation was truly dead, and Mr. Kriticos and his lawyers were the ones holding the bloody daggers of that horrible crime. 

"Sir, you're paying me to locate a spirit, not to be stupid." Although most likely if it meant getting paid she would indeed have to play 'stupid' and go do her job, just she wasn't intending to do it half-assed by being exhausted. "Right now I'm tired, I'd either pass out as soon as I set foot outside, or probably get lost in the woods. I'd think it would be better investment to let me find the correct location and head out there during the day, instead of wandering around like an idiot and wasting your time." That seemed like a reasonable enough request to her as she got up from the bed, holding onto the main body of the telephone in her free hand. 

"The directions in that file are accurate. Everything you need is in there, you don't need to waste my time by rechecking things that already correct." Obviously it wasn't reasonable, Blue noted, hearing a tone of irritation abruptly edging her employer's voice. _Ok, he's going to be stubborn; I can be just as mule headed as he wants to be. _

"I'm sure to you sir, it is, I'm still looking it over and I can already tell its only one side of the story. So I'd rather go to the trouble to fill in the blanks of whatever you might of left out before I even consider setting foot in there, like it or not." She glanced at herself in the mirror, the phone cradled between her shoulder and ear, a look of intense distaste plastered upon her face. 

__

Oh no, hit the bunkers, she's questioning the employer's authority on purpose, quipped a small voice in the back of her skull. 

Before another round of arguments could begin, Blue closed her eyes and bit off, "Besides, I've managed to put up with your methods so far, sir, now I suggest you begin to put up with mine. I promise you'll find out everything that I learn tomorrow, now good night." Finally punctuating her remark by pressing down on the clear plastic nubs at the phone's cradle with her middle finger, hanging up on the old man. 

Keeping her eyes closed she softly hissed out a curse towards her temper and placed the receiver back to it's cradle and the phone upon the floor. She'd trip over the cord later and place it back onto the bedside table in a fit of cursing later. For now she placed the tiny speakers with their comforting music back against her ears, hardly in the mood to hear any voices, let alone the voice Mr. Kriticos any time soon. 

__

Wonderful… Blue could only hold off on smacking herself upon the forehead with the flat of her hand, _if that wasn't an extremely childish thing to do, I don't know what is. _But what did he expect from someone that had been driving nonstop for roughly two days from a comfortable flat out to a place in the middle of nowhere, certainly not the pleasant tempered medium he had sicked his lawyers upon two weeks ago? Already it was costing her a chance to research the tradition bound spirits of China town, for what? Petty spineless threats and her own sheer morbid curiosity to see Borehamwood and its long passed occupants with her own eyes, well, that and quite a very decent pay offer. Though with that little temper tantrum she was sure the pay would be slightly reduced for the penalty of back talk. _Ah well, it was worth it_, the small victory of vengeance for never being able to get a protesting word in before. 

Her brooding to the wall was cut short as a small item on the table caught her attention, the object nothing more than frameless clear lenses of a pair of glasses lying where the folder had originally laid. Of all things in the world to be in the room to help her with the job - 

She viewed the glasses with a mixture of amusement and slight annoyance. Were they really that daft that someone had actually left her a pair of the silly things, they were mentioned in one of the original papers sent to her before she embarked on her little trip, these glasses that made spirits very visible. Blue gave the benefit of the doubt to place the blame on someone who hadn't read the profile Cyrus most likely had on her, though she didn't feel as bad for acting so snappish now. 

__

I'm a post-cognitive, and he has them give me these stupid little things. What? To make sure the ghost's I'm seeing constantly are really there? To her they seemed too much of a crutch to those who lacked the ability to see spirits, a curse as well, considering those who would most likely wear those little things would probably wind up spending their every waking moment in utmost fear, shock and confusion. _And that would just be with the things that would allow themselves to be seen. _Blue added to herself, sporting an amused grin as she picked up the item in question with interest.

Blue pulled them on with a grin, making sure they didn't snag her earphones, and looked at herself and the room behind her in the mirror. _No ghosties out and about in here,_ _and it'll stay that way too. _Only because she intended to salt the conventional entranceways to her room before heading off to bed. What would they think of next, though it already surprised her that they even managed to create something as amazing as this for mundane existence, and than go and make them look exceptionally silly looking. 

"Yea, you've certainly cornered the market on looking stupid during ghost hunting, sir. I bet your mother is proud."


	3. A friend asks only for your time not you...

**__**

A/N: Well what do you know, another story with a new chapter - on a roll, huh?

Cyrus was more than annoyed with the girl as he glowered down at the phone in his hand, her final words and the dial tone echoing mockingly in his ears. He didn't need these problems, not while so far into his project. This one couldn't be bullied like that fawning idiot Kalina, or treated like a difficult child like Dennis - they lacked his ambition and his vision - his dedication. But perhaps she could still be manipulated - one way or another she still intended to go to the asylum. R_ushing her along perhaps wouldn't provide the solution he was seeking_, was considered in the back of his mind as he placed the phone back to its cradle and returned to his glass of port. _Nonetheless,_ _she would find out why his word was the only one to follow soon enough. _

But Dennis was getting to be far too difficult, ghost by ghost the pitiful little thing was developing a mind of his own - asking far too many questions for his own good - regardless of the threats imposed upon his payments. _Why this one Mr. Kriticos? Why, why, why? _

He was quickly beginning to detest that word. 

Of course the fool had nearly made up for his questioning - until the eleventh ghost had escaped - how easy one minor malfunction could permit all his planning to slip through his fingers like a fine sand. Excuses, too many excuses for a mistake that could have easily been avoided, barrier spells checked, granted mistakes happen - just they never were meant to happen for Cyrus and his 'project'.

What had been that little whelp's excuse again for not being able to relocate this ghost? It's path was too well covered to find where he had been recently; he couldn't focus on its location because of that same reason, they had stirred up far too much to have any hopes of settling. And finally leaving him with a psychic, yet who couldn't produce the results that he wanted. A worthless little man.

And now this one; the back up so to speak, if Dennis suddenly could not continue his services any longer. Considering his newest habit of becoming a walking pharmacy - ambitions of burying that 'edge' with as many painkillers and barbiturates that could possibly kill a team of horses - he didn't have much farther to go before he would run out of rope to hang himself with. 

And as for Blue…

They certainly would see what would become of her tomorrow.

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There seemed to be no way out, no matter where they tried to run in the pitch black maze, there was always something ahead of them or behind them, an unseen predator with sharp claws and a frenzied cackle herding them off to no particular destination it seemed. Twisting and turning, was there no end to this Minotaur's den of a nightmare.

Though her throat was raw Susan wanted to scream out. Why? Why in the hell did she ever listen to her friends and come to this place? She didn't even like Jan and her '_friends_' that much to begin with - so why did she ever listen to them? Just a stupid offer to go mess around and smoke pot she could have easily said no to. Now she was here in the dark, bleeding and in a world of pain from numerous scratches and scrapes, wanting nothing more than to be back home and away from this nightmare. 

Not even the guy running besides her, Chuck was it? Whoever the wide shouldered idiot was, giving her any sort of help in getting out, only running along blindly, roughly dragging her down one hallway and than another in a panic. Refusing to stop and allow a chance to catch her breath, even though her lungs burned and her legs ached, she knew stopping for too long would be bad. Stopping would be one more chance for whatever was chasing them to find them - and attack once more screeching and clawing with reckless abandon.

"Whoever you are - just leave us alone!" 

"Please!"

And in the darkness, while the rest of the town slept peacefully through the night, the girl screamed once more as the laughing overtook them.

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****

As stealthy as he wished to be, always the thrill of the hunt would over take his common sense of being silent, letting a gleeful laugh break out from his concentration. It didn't matter to him if the two were finally able to get out from the lower hallways, it didn't mean that they would be able to get out on the ground level. _Just like old times_…

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__

He never gets out of bed…

It's all in his head

And Jimmy says

He says:

Rain rain… go away

I've got things to do today

Rain rain…go away

Come again another day

Blue looked up from her book, feeling a chill crawl up her spine, despite the warm layer of sheets and blankets covering her bare legs. Nothing had passed into the room that she could see, so the next reason could only be a bodily reaction, random flotsam and jetsam of the spirit world never left her skin crawling like this. Perhaps it would be better if she would get out and throw on one of her tee shirts if the room was going to continue cooling down. Fitting omen, chasing Hell's winter and all of a sudden having her room feel as if it had been plunged into the middle of some frosty tundra. But even as she gave the matter thought the feeling left as quickly as it had came. 

__

Just a goose on the grave, don't worry about it. She told herself, placing the thick and battered tome of Agrippa's philosophy back down on the night stand, atop of the otherwise laughable files. Just some telemetry readings, vague statements taken from witnesses of various occurring phenomena - laughter, smoke scent, phantom scratches, fuzzy photographs of black blobs and what could have easily passed for light leaking into a faulty camera. Absolutely nothing from any Medium but that she passed off as the fact that no one in their right mind would consider even going onto the grounds - let alone into the asylum itself. 

A glance to the red numbers of the digital clock told her enough of her reading was done and the witching hour was well upon its time of passing, it was time for this wrong minded individual to get some sort of rest before sunrise. 

__

Might as well get as much sleep as I can…

It was going to be a long day tomorrow.


	4. Everything is not yet lost

****

"You little hell spawn! Git back here - we gotta beat the devil out of you! You listen to your Pa now and git back here this instant! Bless your mother's soul if she knew she died for nothing more than a Godless little pup!" Running never worked in her nightmares, as hands from her father's congregation closed down upon her and the thorny switch rose high above her father's head, ready to come crashing down upon her as it always did. "Let Jesus take you little lamb, or you'll always be alone with the rest of the sinners and wolves!" "Let Jesus heal you – let him take away these horrible visions of the Devil!"

She wanted to cry out that they were wrong – Jesus had given her this gift, the spirits had told her so! She was special – not cursed – they were all in danger, they had told her that as well, but they would not hear of it, just as her father refused to hear her warnings. He was holding to his beliefs as tightly as to the switch in his hands, which now started sailing forward in an unreal slowness....

Down onto her face, into her wide fearful eyes – seeking to blind the lying eyes that God… no… they were not one of God's gifts they were willing to accept… that Satan had given her. Only he could provide such lies - the dead didn't roam the earth, spirit or otherwise, it was either Heaven or Hell, no middle ground – obviously a horrible trick of the Devil was being played upon the Pastor's hapless charge. A high scream broke from her throat as the prayers continued on and whickering sound of the air being wrought filled her ears…

Blue awoke with a start, hands already going to her face feeling the familiar phantom sting upon her forehead and cheeks. Breathing heavily she viewed the darkened room, offering up a small comforting sigh to no one but herself and her hands fell back to her lap. _Always alone…_ she glanced over to the empty side of the full sized bed, running her left hand over the rumpled coverlet and sheets she had most likely disturbed in her sleep. _Always going to be alone…_

__

No. I'm not alone. I'm never alone. Well there was no need to sit around and mope in bed all day, instinct told her to get up and start the business of the day. "Have to get up…" She pulled herself from the warm covers, still feeling more than slightly shaken from the already fading nightmare that had dogged her until the moment the sun had risen, disappearing to its unknown crevice within her skull. Years and years of trying and still she couldn't get used to such a vivid memory, not even crawling blindly into a bottle of the nearest alcohol or pills could ward off her creeping nighttime intruder. It came with the territory she supposed, the dreams and visions – one could not possibly exist without the other to humble. But as it came it also left, there would be no point in worrying about it – that could easily be done at home – not in some motel in the middle of no where. _Finish the work and go back to being alone…_

A shiver crossed her bare shoulders as she took a glance at herself in the mirror as she moved to the small cubicle of a bathroom. Staring back at the creature with tousled hair sticking to her forehead and shoulders, tacky with the same sweat that already was drying to a foul film, empty blue eyes that stared back in confusion – as if either side hardly knew what to make of the other. 

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She sat down once more this time upon the floor, her light hair now darkened to a gray from the excess moisture of a long shower, the water cooling and running down the bare skin of her back. Her eyes roaming, taking in the lines of reports upon the papers with renewed interest, papers new from the folder, old from what the lawyers had previously sent. Surrounding, if not effectively cornering her where she sat at the foot of the bed with information. _Paranormal activity… manageable structural damage to main administration area of asylum … limited surviving records of the deceased: Dwight, Joseph… Khun, R. E.… Straubhaur, P.…telemetry identifying at least thirty plus on base recordings around asylum's surrounding area… readings on electromagnetic activities inconclusive to previous recordings...._

But what stood out finally was a small snip of transcript, undated and nestled between studies on the phantom noises and breezes found in the hallways of the second floors._ "I can hear them, see them - they're running and yelling from the guards and doctors – climbing the fences. Christ, how many stupid kids have been up here, its fucking everything up... hard to concentrate on one thing... There's cold here, total confusion – they've sought shelter of the woods as the asylum burnt – to hide from their captors, to run from the screaming…_

Christ... that screaming is hurting my head....

I don't know who's doing the screaming, okay? No. I don't want to investigate the asylum right now, no. No. I said it once. No more, no more today, all right? That's it, call the car, I'm done for the day."

Blue smirked, running a finger along that line, rereading it slowly – now who in the world had said that? Perhaps she had been wrong in thinking that no medium had previously visited the grounds – Mr. Kriticos had made no effort to mention it before, her own fault for not asking. Perhaps he was trying to stoke her ego by making her think this was a first high-end job for her? But the words... they were interesting, it sounded like the reaction of an amateur who was realizing just how far down the proverbial supernatural rabbit hole went. 

Would she ever meet the person that had given the report? Someone who could witness the past would have been a boon to the investigation. But regardless, it would certainly be an interesting conversation if they were ever to cross paths. 

But still... what would they be like? The question lingered as she pulled on a clean shirt and squirmed into her jeans – the material fighting against the damp skin of her legs. Did they see things like her? No. Maybe just glimpses of things, no real depth. Things would be worse inside the building. 

Than again it could have been edited, countered another section of her brain as she fought with the laces to her boots. Maybe gleaned from some previous visit by one of those members of high profile paranormal specialists... the ones that called her a difficult, crack potted, boarder lined grave robbing.... 

Fists starting to clench over the leather of her now partially emptied knapsack, no, didn't need to think about those idiots at a time like this. Headphones slid over her ears as the first strains of music began. 

It was time to move. 

And there was one last place she needed to go before heading off to the dragon's den.

````````````````````````````````````

Yet again, Dennis was having a horrible morning.

And a breakfast coffee that perfectly mirrored that obvious fact. 

He forced another sip, wincing at the bitter flavor that invaded his mouth; it really was a lousy coffee – almost the texture of sifted cat litter - perfect for such a lousy, hole in the ground town. 

No wonder Cyrus wanted to get his next 'curiosity' from here – it was always the white bread type of places that harvested the worst in people. Serial killers, pop stars – ghosts, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth – chasing away the tired expression on his face as he continued to stare out at the motel from where he sat in the diner across the street. 

There, it finally was opening. Immediately taking him up from his sulking slouch as the door in question finally opened up. Staring at the girl who exited – and speaking of curiosities. She looked like she was about to go to some obscure college class – as he took in her choice of clothes entailing a tan shirt, jeans, book bag, and headphones – what was it with those stupid headphones of hers anyway? No one could be that attached to music. But regardless, she certainly didn't fit the bill of a supernatural professional - not enough to go tramping around in an asylum looking for the ghost of a long dead sadistic murderer, not enough to actually go and do it alone. Not even he was that suicidal.

She certainly looked smarter than someone who was about to risk one's personal safety. Let alone a sizable chunk of their own ass; an ass he wouldn't have minded to get slightly closer to if it didn't offer his own chances of having a seizure and the unneeded details of her personal life. So maybe Cyrus had made a mistake by hiring her, maybe she would change her mind if she couldn't find what she was looking for at the library, and maybe his chances would definitely improve to regain the favor of his employer.

And maybe fucking pigs flew.

Dennis knew Cyrus was getting tired of his questions, but after risking his neck time and time again for the old man's collection, he should have expected questions to be raised about the collection. Murder victims, murderers, freaks, and a burnt up housewife – what the hell did Cyrus want with such a motley group of ghosts? Fucking stick them in his study for an interesting conversational piece for his ancient friends while they sat around and slowly rotted and got richer? 

And for that matter, when the hell was he going to see the money Cyrus had promised for his services? 

He had to wonder if she had seen him yesterday, as she left his line of sight, but thankfully to some loitering teenagers – the chances that he had been spotted by the pale girl were slim when she had looked in his direction. Not that she would probably know who he was anyway....

But still, why – why her? Blue was a, well - a damn guidance counselor for ghosts from what he could tell from the files Cyrus had on her. A consideration passed through his mind as he swallowed another mouthful of the coffee with a grimace, that she would possibly need his help – his guidance – any sort of warning of what kind of hell she was getting herself into by trying to find Ryan Khun on his turf. Unconsciously once the cup was back down on the table he rubbed at the healing scratches high on his arm, feeling the skin suddenly crawling with a demanding itch. 

Nah.

Meeting Ryan once was enough for him for now, and if she didn't get the job done – it'd be one last person to compete against later. 

Dennis would let her try reasoning with the dead psychopath. 

One way or another, it'd definitely benefit him in the end.

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**__**

The sound of the ocean is dead

It's just the echo of the blood in your head

It didn't take much wandering, before she realized that the library was really nothing more than a small stone building nestled in the courthouse's shadow. 

She paused upon entering, breathing in the scent of managed dust and old paper, letting her eyes roam over the room before her, finding that no one seemed to really notice let alone mind her presence so far. Always a good thing, considering most towns this day and age weren't too keen on having strangers in their midst, even ones that looked like her - strangers to them would always bring trouble in most folk's thinking. But than again perhaps those nay-say types were still slowly awaking to greet the day with grumbles and grunts of annoyance.

Blue looked up at the slightly faded painting hanging upon the wall near the entrance, finding her attention shifting for a moment from the few people she could see. Most likely of the founder - Peter Campbell was the name upon the small brass plate - so perhaps she was correct in her assumption. The small library otherwise was quiet and somewhat empty, but still could not mask the presence of others within its walls. What with the soft rustle here and there of turning pages, the groaning squeak of a weighted down book cart somewhere further off, hidden amongst the mass of shelves, the insistent hum of the microfilm machines - all of it filled the thick void. 

Cautiously she turned down the volume upon her headphones, taking in the calm quiet; it surprised her to find that even the voices of the dead were soft, almost coyly hidden amongst the noises of the library. Whispering of trivial things, mumbling of the everyday comings and goings of their personal realm.

Speaking of personal realms...

__

Building plans, maps, any sort of news articles - that's what she wanted. Considering for all she knew they had given her a plan of the original building that perhaps had gone through multiple renovations as the need for more room for patients became more and more demanding long before the second fire shut down the asylum for good. 

Dead ends, remodeled halls that weren't listed, non-existent rooms, most likely awaited, she wasn't willing to take the chance of going in blind and wind up getting lost - let alone cornered by whatever it was she was looking for.

Even after getting herself settled with a meager pile of the town history and newspapers, hardly a feast of information in her eyes, she found herself in a rut. _Of course, its not like the good people of Red Ridge would leave their dirty laundry out to airs for anyone to find - certainly it wasn't the stuff this historical society would care to have a day of memory dedicated to - but still.... _Blue couldn't help but lower her head and pinch the bridge of her nose – fighting away the impending headache of frustration.

The entire picture the story Cyrus' lawyers had offered and the story being painted before her made no sense as she studied the newspapers, mystified especially as one day the town called Borehamwood, somehow phased itself into Red Ridge. As if they had swept everything earned from their previous name over night under the rugs, regardless that it was all in all the same building - an asylum was an asylum no matter the name, the source of funding or the cause of fire. 

When it rains. Most definitely it pours.

"Can I be of any service to you, miss?"

Looking up from the clippings she found herself being watched, it was the same man that had been in the painting at the entrance of the library, everything from the thinning gray hair, down to the old well worn tweed jacket and cherry wood pipe. Merely faded now while he stood before her table, as most ghosts were, but showing no real sign of the cause of his death, likely a peaceful passing in a comfortable chair back wherever his home used to be. _They haunt the places they know best. _His voice was faint, but in the silence of the library clear enough for her to hear... no wonder she had felt so welcome entering the door.

"Aha, so you do see me." Offering up a warm friendly smile, he nodded his head towards her and the meager collection of papers. Most definitely he looked like the sort of fellow that used to spend his weekends reading to children, almost a heavy set Mr. Rogers when she really thought about it as he sat at the table across from her. "Margery said you would, not many of your type pass through this area often, so pardon my curiosity."

Blue nodded, word must travel fast in a town like this, even for the dead, one would hope that gossip didn't leave the borders of the town. Did anyone wonder what Cyrus wanted with the old asylum on the hill? No.... most likely the common man probably thought it had to do with the delicate dance of real estate, probably the vague mumbling of condominiums would be offered and the subject would pass. She kept her voice low, not wishing for people to think ill upon seeing a young woman holding a conversation with empty air. "So would you know -" 

"Why the town is called Red Ridge, yes?"

"Yes. Anything would help honestly…" She started up, but silenced herself as one of the younger members of the library staff passed by the table, the young man being more engrossed with watching the clock than really watching any of the patrons. 

But Mr. Campbell took that as a sign to begin as he cast an annoyed glance to the man's back, mostly a unwilling witness to his beloved library's abuse – a broken book spine here, a misplaced card in the registry there... "Well, when I was a boy the local yarn was that when the nut house went up in flames the first time, you could see it from town. When I grew older, it was still the same." The spirit nodded taking his mind off of brooding while giving a tap to his pipe as he let his voice take up a parody of the stronger local accent. "A'uh, bright red flames burning over the tops of the trees. Like a hole from hell opened up out there - went and lit up the entire town long after the sun went down. And after the ashes had cooled, along with the tempers of many of the citizens - the foulest winter blew in out of nowhere and hit us hard. Town was never the same again after that."

"And when the news hounds got hold of what was going on there, and the luck that seemed to have been passing through, it didn't seem fitting to have a town named after the same asylum. Right?"

"Sharp girl. Very sharp. Especially when a majority of their patients saw the light of day for the first in a very long time. And many more lost their lives in the snow months later, from the cold and from the loyal citizen's patrolling the woods with shotguns after someone was found dead and another robbed."

"The patients were killing townspeople?" No wonder they had swept this thing to be out of sight and out of mind.

"Well, I don't believe it was a person – more like a hen house and a root cellar that belonged to someone in town that took offense, town manager mayhaps. Folks didn't want to believe there was an asylum up there, as much as they didn't want to accept that there were people freezing and starving in the woods either. Just wanted the problem to go away." 

"Not that sharp, folks still don't seem to want anyone up there, with the problem long dead and gone or not. I don't see why though, the only thing that should be haunting that place now are some really mean raccoons and an occasional bunch of drunk sophomores." Her eyes traveled from the spirit back to the article about the second disaster, a small fire in the eighties that escalated to larger proportions when it had finally reached the poorly maintained furnace – and caused it to explode.... Thus putting the final nail in Borehamwood/Red Ridges aspirations of mental wellness, holding back the questions she so desperately wished to ask. _Who died in that first fire?_ _Who died in the frost? What of this second accident? _

"They have a right to, there'll always be nothing good up there. Nothing you'd want to get involved with. Even when they tried opening up another asylum on that same site, there was nothing worth while for them either and that one I did see closed up and abandoned right after the second fire blew off the roof. And you didn't have to be some fancy other realm scholar to know there's always been something wrong with that place."

"Why?"

"The young folks have a habit of disappearing' up there every few years still. And they always wind up dead or crazy – and than dead. If'in there is something up there still, none of the folks down here are willing to find out." 

"So that's why there's the noticeable lack of feline spirits, curiosity doesn't run rampant in this area."

The old man smiled, "And you say you're not sharp, shouldn't lie to your elders my dear."

"And what about the ones still up there? Even if no one wants to be curious there has to be some sort of knowledge as to who he, she, they might be." 

"There's a lot of things up there. But I'm sure you already know that."

"Well than the next thing I need is a better building plan." She placed the folded page upon the table top, almost expecting him to merely point in the correct direction she needed, but he shook his head with disappointment of her getting back to business and not taking heed of his warnings.

"It's been gone from here for a while… I'm sorry… but the distasteful has a habit of being swept under the rugs around here." 

"Than let me guess the next answer to my question - how over grown is the road to the asylum? Well, considering how long ago the place has been from running - I'd most likely be better off wandering around in the woods with the lost crazies until I stumble across it."

The man smiled, beginning to fade away. "You would be better off not even going, if you care for my opinion. But if you still go, indeed follow the woods not the roadway - otherwise you'll find yourself in a jail cell for trespassing long before you reach it."

"Something tells me that won't be the last time I hear that phrase… but thank you." 

"It's the least I can do."

````````````````````````````````````

****

Blood and bone, grime and gore – he racked his claws over the pile of rent flesh once more, disappointed to only receive silence from what had once been a girl… hardly a woman by any standards – but tainted none the less by the disease only he could see. The asylum had taken her – just like the others, filling the pitcher of the slain farther, no one would seek him out lest they wished the same fate, no one would hurt him – they wouldn't allow it, he had worked hard enough to see to that. 

My cup runeth over…

__

Foul harlots… Ryan raised his head without problem despite the weight of the cage locked around it; he carried both it and his guilt effortlessly now in death – dragging in air that he didn't need past torn lips, bare jagged teeth, another laugh filling his being as the burning returned.... Cackled as it scorched his eyes with phantom light, seared his lungs, filled his brain, demanding to be sated once more regardless of how much blood was poured upon the growing flames – flesh fed to the ever consuming coals. The carcass was nothing to him now - blood flowing from a stone, a useless pile to rot away into the dirt, something new had his attentions. It called to him, dancing in the darkness – caressing him in a destructive embrace – heeding him forward, seductively whispering in his ears the sweet melodies of revenge and pain – stroking his scarred and drawn face with a winter's burning freeze. Now there were only two.... An easy task of searching for the two that had eluded him so far awaited, and the taint came to him, soft red lights glowing in the darkness – a stench in the air, fouler than rot, thicker than smoke... blood. _Oh yes, blood. They would bleed for him... they always did. _

They had stopped running – for now – the little bitch and the whelp that followed her, sniffing her skirts – a harsh cackle broke up from the ice that held his lungs_… 'Get out… get out… get out before I make you… get out before you can't…_' He faded, they would be running soon enough when he found them. -


End file.
